Until You've Lost Everything
by xxlei
Summary: The last three months were just pretend. Alternate ending to the book. Takes place instead of the last chapter. R & R!


**Summary: **The last three months were just pretend. Alternate ending to the book. Takes place instead of the last chapter.

**A/N: **This is actually a school assignment, due tomorrow (I know, I do everything last minute). Any suggestions would be greatly helpful!

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to the one and only Chuck something or another…except for the airports, which I don't actually know who owns, much less where they are.

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You wake up at Air Harbor International.

You wake up at Logan.

You wake up at JFK.

Every take off, every landing, I still pray for a crash. I picture the little stick people jumping out of emergency exit windows.

You wake up at LAX.

I picture mothers helping their children with their air masks before they help themselves.

You wake up at SeaTac.

And it doesn't happen. Each take off is perfect, each landing is smooth. The people around me clap.

You wake up in your house. You go to work. Recall. Don't recall.

Your boss yells at you.

I don't have a boss. Tyler made him fire me.

Who's Tyler?

I don't know.

You wake up at Air Harbor International.

I'm wearing a white shirt I don't have and black pants that should be stained with blood. My suitcase has a tag that says I live in a condominium on the fifteenth floor of a high rise that was burned down months ago.

I laugh.

They say that Paper Street is industrial ground.

Yeah, but there's a house there. A rented one.

They laugh.

I try the burnt down condo. The doorman ignores me. He ignores everyone. I open the door myself, even with the suitcase, and take the elevator up fifteen floors. Everything's just how I left it.

When?

Before it burned down.

Tyler, I say to the wall, what's going on?

Who's Tyler?

I don't know. I do know my house burned down, though. And that I don't have a job. Because Tyler made my boss fire me.

Then how did I just get back from a business trip?

I pick up the phone. I call Marla.

"How'd you get my number?" she asks.

I don't know.

I ask her about my job. She says we never quite got to the point of discussing it. I hang up. Why did I think she'd know?

What's going on?

I want to punch the wall, kill someone.

I want to fight.

The first rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club.

I want to feel blood.

The second rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club.

Tyler, I ask, where are you?

Tyler doesn't live here any more.

Tyler doesn't exist.

I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

My hand should have a scar. Tyler burned me. My hand is perfectly smooth skin. I feel my cheek. No butthole. My face, flawless. All my teeth, intact. Why shouldn't they be?

The third rule of fight club is only two guys to a fight.

I wrote those rules. I made the copies.

Tyler wrote those rules.

The fourth rule of fight club is only one fight at a time.

I pick up the phone. I call the house on Paper Street. I don't know why, but I do. A lady answers. I hang up fast.

I called the bars and asked them to host a fight club. I sent them the copies of the rules. I went to check the turn away numbers. I planned the bombings, I told the space monkeys what their assignments were.

I know all this already. I know this because Tyler knows this.

Tyler doesn't exist.

I am Tyler.

The fifth rule of fight club is no shirts, no shoes.

I check the date on the calendar above my Applaro gateleg table. Three months ago my house burnt down. Three months ago this house burnt down.

It is three months ago.

Tyler doesn't exist.

Fight club doesn't exist.

Project Mayhem doesn't exist.

I exist.

Marla exists.

The sixth rule of fight club is fights will go on as long as they have to.

The last three months were just pretend. My imagination.

You wake up at Willow Run.

A dream.

I don't dream.

You take a 98-percent concentration of fuming nitric acid and add the acid to three times that amount of sulfuric acid. You have nitroglycerin. Mix the nitro with sawdust, and you have a nice plastic explosive. Mixing nitro with cotton and adding Epsom salts works too.

I know this because Tyler knows this.

Tyler doesn't exist. If Tyler doesn't exist, then how do I know this?

I made the rules. I sent the copies. I planned the bombings.

The seventh rule of fight club is if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.


End file.
